Before Mor'du
by mketts53
Summary: Some backstory on Mor'du. A bit of focus on his family, but mostly how he went from a king with everything to a bear with nothing. From when he first came to the throne with his three brothers to his eventual defeat at the hands of Merida and Elinor, this is the story of Mor'du. I do not own Brave or the Mor'du short, this story is purely fan-based, blah blah blah, etc.
1. I Am Aonghas

As the eldest, I have always known that it would be my birthright to someday inherit the throne. I imagined all they would call me, Aonghas the Warrior, Conqueror of the Weak, Leader of the Strong. My other two brothers accepted this.

Druhan was just, and he realized that I should have the throne and, unless I were to die, he would never be king. Callum is compassionate, he has no desire to rule, and he will never gain leadership status as third in line. Caedmon is my least favorite brother, as the question of my birthright has led to our worst fights.

A wise scholar, Caedmon would rather debate about logic and what was best for everyone. Why talk when you could take action instead?! I would clearly be the better ruler. Why can't he see that? Besides, it isn't like our father could change his mind about something like this! It is traditional for the crown to be passed down to the eldest, after all!

**Just get him out of the way…**

Ha! Caedmon is no problem! He has no hope to change my rightful destiny, and he would never dare to take direct action!

**Still better to eliminate the threat.**

**••••**

No. Caedmon is my brother. There is no threat from him, and he would not do anything to harm me.

My opponent is dragged out of the arena, bleeding and unconscious. Part of him are swollen and bruised, others broken and red. A victory.

"Well done, your highness," a lowly servant calls out. What is his name again? Farqahr? Finlay? Doesn't matter. I glare at the silent crowd.

"Wonderful, my prince!"

"An excellent job!"

"A true defeat, that was!"

Cheers and compliments quickly fly out. Much better.

I swing both my swords in the air and stick them in the ground as I exit, the crowd willingly parting for me. Yes. I will be a great king.

Caedmon stands alone in the hall to my room. He nods as he sees me approaching.

"You fought well, brother," he says solemnly.

"I would think you had been waiting for me, brother," I say, ignoring his praise. He hates fighting and his words are empty.

"Did you have to be so hard on the poor man?" I laugh gallantly.

"If you are going to defeat a man, defeat him thoroughly!" I proclaim. Caedmon shakes his head.

"That man may never fight again," he argues, "He will be crippled for life! Victory is showing mercy towards your enemy in battle!"

"You know nothing of battle," I scoff, "Now, let me enter my room." I easily shove him aside and open the door, taking care to slam it shut.

Caedmon and I, despite our personality clashes, look similar to each other. We have the same muscular build, full beards, tanned skin, black eyes, and darkened hair. Even though there are five years separating us, we are nearly the same height, as well. It is easy to tell us apart, though. I am covered in battle scars and surrounded in the hardness of a true warrior, while with Caedmon, it is easy to see he is nothing but gentle, and his only scars are from measly paper cuts.

**A fool, a fool…**

Yes. For all his supposed wisdom, Caedmon is nothing but a fool.

Once I am king, everything will be devoted to military and fighting and making men stronger. The strongest always prevail, after all.

There is a knock on the door.

"Caedmon, go away!" I roar, "I am busy!" To prove my point, I strike the wall loud and hard, adding another deep scratch in the stone.

"Pardon me, my lord, but the king requests your presence." A servant. Oh.

"Tell my father I am busy…" I think for a moment, "Carson!"

"Cameron, my lord," he says. He sounds offended. Honestly, they sound close enough, and how is one man supposed to know the names of everyone in the palace, even if he _is_ the king?

"And the king has made it clear that it is an urgent matter," he adds.

"Very well," I grunt. I shove open the door. It's the servant with the crooked nose. He follows me as I begin to walk.

"I don't need a bloody escort," I growl. Crooked nose looks embarrassed.

"I think the king wanted…"

"I don't _care_ what my father wanted," I snap, "I want you to leave. Go clean the chamber pots or something. And that is an order." He hesitates, and I crack my knuckles. He yelps and foolishly scampers away as fast as he can. Sometimes, I just need to show them a little taste of my power. A servant should know two things: his place and his lord's strength.

I arrive at my father's chambers and go inside without knocking.

"Most men will ask permission before entering a room, particularly the room of a king," my father murmurs, in his bed and staring at the ceiling, same as the last time I saw him. Ever since the illness took hold, he rarely leaves his room, or even gets out of bed. I nod sagely.

"As they should! I will make sure all men do that once I am king! It will teach them respect!" I proclaim. My father sighs, as if I've missed his point.

"The servant boy said you wanted to see me?" I prompt.

"Yes," he sighs, looking up at me, "My time in this world is drawing near. Do you know what this will mean?"

"Of course," I scoff, "It means that I will be king of this land and carry on our family name! But you have no need to fear, you still have much time left." He sighs again.

"It also means you and your brothers will have no one but each other. Have you considered what will become of them?"

"I suspect they can marry a princess or high lady in a neighboring kingdom. A kingdom only needs one king, after all."

"And what do you plan to do once you have taken my place?" I think for a moment.

"Make sure the men are strong and ready for any battle," I reply, "Expand the kingdom. Go down in our legends as the strongest and bravest of all kings." Shouldn't that much be obvious? I am destined for greatness, after all.

"And what of the people?" my father questions.

"What about them?"

"Not all of them are strong, not all of them can fight," he says.

"They can learn."

"What about the old? The babies? The crippled? Your brother Druhan tells me the man you fought today won't be able to walk again. What will you do for men like him?"

"It's their own fault if they're crippled," I scoff, "It's not my problem if they can't defend themselves. The kingdom can only support those who can support themselves. I have no use for old warriors who can't lift a sword, and the mothers can care for their children on their own."

"I see," he says softly, "That is all. You may go." That's it? How was any of this urgent business? This was just a small conversation, nothing important! And since when does Druhan tell our father of what happens concerning me? I should make him pay. Probably not worth it, though. I turn and leave without bidding him farewell. The old fool should know better than to waste my time with idle chitchat. I have much more important things to do than talk with elderly men who can't be bothered to get out of bed.


	2. Death of a Father

"Aonghas! Aonghas!"

Ugh. Who could be whining and pounding on my door at this insufferable hour?

"What?" I yell, shoving my pillow over my head, "Who the hell is this?!"

Who do they think I am, some commoner that can be disturbed whenever? I am to be king! I deserve some respect, at the very least!

"It's your brother, Callum!"

"Callum, pounding on doors and disrupting the peace?" I mock, mostly because I'm tired, "Has the world gone mad?"

"Father needs all four of us in his chambers, immediately!"

"What is so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" I grumble.

"What was that?"

"I'll be there in a minute!" Ugh. If this conversation is anything like the last one, I have been woken up and disturbed for absolutely nothing. Again.

I shove the door open in a huff and nearly knock over Callum. I want to say something angry, but he just walks down the hall, as if he expects _me_ to follow _him._ Who does he think he is? I follow him anyways, though, just because I'm too tired and irritated to do anything. I will scold him later. At least nobody is around to see something this humiliating.

Our father is in his bed, as frail and meek as ever. Some servants stand nearby, and Druhan and Caedmon are kneeling next to him. Callum takes his place next to my other two brothers, but I stand in the back, glowering.

"My sons," our father states, his voice weak, "I am afraid my time has come to leave this world." What? No. He is an old man, but he must still have some time.

**But you will now be king!**

Yes. I am the oldest and strongest, and I will support the kingdom and my brothers through this. I will mourn the loss of my father, but show no weakness, for it is my duty.

"Father…" Callum protests.

"You have known this day was coming," our father reminds him, "Ever since this blasted fever…" He is interrupted by a spurt of coughing.

"As you know, I have spoken with each of you individually over the past two days," he continues. He has? So I wasn't the only one who had to deal with that useless small talk?

"Your mother would have been proud to see how her boys have grown up," he smiles as tears glaze his eyes, "Never has there been a better warrior than our Aonghas, a more fair and just man than Druhan, a human as compassionate, kind, and forgiving as Callum, nor a wiser scholar than Caedmon. Together, the four of you have exceeded all that I have tried to accomplish in my life."

"You are loved by the people of this kingdom, father," Callum declares, "Never has there been a better ruler, nor a better father."

"Thank you, Callum," he says kindly, "But neither a king nor father could not wish for more when it comes to the four of you. The kingdom will flourish under the rule of my sons, more so than it has under my own ruling." Wait, what is he saying…? No, he can't possibly mean…

"A kingdom cannot solely stand on strength, fairness, kindness, or knowledge," he continues, "But with these four qualities combined under the leadership of the four of you…"

"Father," I interrupt, trying to stay somewhat composed even though I'm panicking and ready to kill the servants and make my brothers swear I am the one and only king, "I am your oldest son! Your heir! It is my responsibility, my birthright!" My father stares at me.

"Aonghas, I know you must feel cheated…" Of course I feel cheated! I _am_ cheated! Does he expect me to just share the throne?

"But the combined gifts that you and your brothers possess will help build an even greater kingdom."

"But father, you can't do this! I…"

"Aonghas!" Caedmon interrupts, "This is no time for greed and envy!" What? I am not greedy, and I am certainly not jealous. I only want what is rightfully mine!

"Do you really want to disrespect our father's last wish?" Druhan whispers hoarsely. No, but it would help if the last wish was something less preposterous.

"We shouldn't argue and fight over petty issues at this hour, not when our father…" Callum chokes out. This is not a petty issue! This is about me and my throne! They can't do this to me!

"Please, Aonghas," Father begs, "Make peace with this. Don't shatter this bond with your brothers. I promise you, it will not be worth it. This is for the best, and we will all benefit from this union." No, we will _not _benefit! I won't be the king, and my father will be dead.

My father will be dead. The weight of those words sink in. I will no longer have a father. I can't let these last moments be in anger, even if I am right and he is wrong.

"As you wish, father," I agree, trying not to cry like my younger brothers. Father said so himself, I am strong. I will carry this burden and not be as fragile and weak as my brothers. There now is only peace in our father's eyes as he looks at us.

"Thank you, my sons," he whispers. There is no special moment, no last defining exhale, just nothing. He is simply gone.

••••

The funeral was held the next night. The day went by in a blur. I saw everything, I did everything, but none of it truly stuck. I made the announcement that our father the king was dead. Druhan spoke of his honor. Callum told how he would be missed. Caedmon then revealed how the four of us would rule as one. Even though I agreed to this in front of my father, I still have resentment boiling in my stomach.

**Good.**

My father's body is clothed in a beautiful, intricate shroud, and his crown placed upon his head.

**You will not cry.**

He is set in the wooden boat that will carry him into the next life.

**You are weak. **

I fire the first arrow, which is followed by my brothers.

**Stop crying, you fool.**

The boat, stuffed with dried straw, easily catches fire.

**This is anger, not sadness.**

It floats down the water on a steady path, burning like a small sun.

**Don't mistake the two.**

I am without a kingdom, without my pride, and without a father. I am alone.

**You will not cry. You will be strongest of them all. Just wait.**

••••

This kingdom will be mine.


	3. Fall of the Four Brothers

My father had no right to give away my throne. I deserve to be king! Not anyone else, especially not my brothers.

**Yes.**

If my brothers are thinking clearly, they will resign to the fact that the throne and kingdom is mine. We cannot share.

My mind is pounding and my head is dark and my body is filled with pent up anger as I follow my brothers into the throne room. My father wanted us to rule together, yes, but my father is not here any longer, and he cannot do anything about it. The singular throne that I was to sit on is now gone, replaced by four stone chairs lined up in a row that we are now supposed to use together as equals. The anger and resentment inside of my heart grows and hardens. The stone plate with four carved images upon it, depicting the four of us, has been placed to the side of the seats, but still in plain view, probably to further show how we will all rule happily together. As if that could ever happen.

"So, brothers," Caedmon starts, "Even though the kingdom needs time to mourn, we should still begin food preparations, as winter will come soon and it would be preferable if the people…" I begin to laugh. Druhan, Callum, and Caedmon stare at me, probably thinking I am hysteric with sorrow. I stop once I have their attention.

"Do you seriously think I would agree to this?" I question, "To just let you all rule with me?"

"We're not ruling with you, Aonghas," Caedmon corrects, speaking slowly as if I am a child, "We are ruling together. There is a difference." Druhan and Callum nod in agreement. I snort.

"I could never rule with the likes of you three. All of you are power-hungry, weak, greedy idiots who are just clamoring to get a piece of authority here, and will do anything to get what you want, even if it's at my expense."

"Are you crazy?" Druhan asks, "We are honoring our father's last wishes! It has not been much more than a day, and you're already disrespecting him? By fighting _us_?"

"Father was right," Caedmon says softly, "The kingdom that we build together will be greater than any other before, but only if we all use our talents, which we can only do equally if we share the throne."

"No!" I yell, "You vultures know nothing! You understand nothing!"

"Aonghas, please, calm down…" Callum starts, but abruptly stops once I pick up my battle-axe and begin to swing it around. The coward never did like weapons and violence.

"I am perfectly calm," I say steadily, "I just want _my_ throne."

"Don't do something you'll regret later…" Caedmon starts, but I interrupt.

"Will you give me my throne?" My three brothers look at each other.

"We don't want to fight you…" Callum starts.

"…But we will not let you rule on your own," Druhan finishes.

"It's the wisest option," Caedmon agrees.

"**Fools!" **With that declaration, I lift my axe and, with one mighty swing, strike my father's stone plate that he treasured so much. The hard rock splits with a defining crack, and I am separated from the others. I stand on my own from now. I turn to look at my brothers' horrified expressions.

I growl, **"This means war."**

••••

I did not hesitate to rally my own forces. Plenty of men, particularly the warriors who I shared mutual honor and respect with, quickly came to my side. Some of the more loyal and brave servants joined me, as well, but the few pesky ones who had happened to be in my father's chambers that fateful night somehow managed to spread lies through word of mouth that my brothers deserved to rule, that I was crazed with insanity and greed. Once I win, they will be executed accordingly. Sure, my brothers may have the majority of the people, but I have all the warriors.

"My lord, you're needed in the small council tent," a soldier calls out. I grumble, but come out anyways. Humiliated and cast out of the castle I have called home, I have been forced to retreat to the war tents like some common enemy. The Gods are probably laughing at me right now.

The tent where I will be planning out the attacks contains a map, some weapons, and my top four commanding officers.

"Let's get down to business," I declare, pounding my fists on the map, "Our goal right now should be to retake my castle. If we can do that, then I will have the advantage. Whoever holds the castle holds the people."

"My lord," One man with tattoos and slick hair asks meekly, "I'm not sure if that will win favor with the people…"

"Of course it will!" I snort, "Besides, a king should have a castle, and…"

"But my lord," tattoos interrupts, "Your brothers aren't even _in_ the castle." What?

"Ay, it's true," another man with a scruffy red ponytail says, "They are living out in the town, as an attempt of sorts to gain support of the more common folk, methinks."

"Of all the ridiculous…" I mutter, but stop short once I see the men staring at me, waiting for my reaction and proclamation. I clear my throat before saying, "We will still attack the castle. It will be an easy win, show who's in charge, and cut off my brothers' resources!"

"But, my lord," tattoos protests, "The supplies aren't kept in the castle, they're currently spread throughout the villages so feed your brothers' troops. Besides, all the archers…"

"Are you questioning me? Your one and only king?" I growl, glaring at everyone, but especially at tattoos. They duck their pathetic heads, and tattoos mumbles, "No, my king."

"Good," I grumble, "We attack as soon as the sun sets." I abruptly leave the tent.

**They should know better than to question their king.**

••••

I lead the charge, in order to give the men good morale and show I deserve the throne. Now is a great time to prove my strength and leadership to everyone.

It is dark, so much that we can barely see what's in front of us. The moon helps with light, and we manage to be silent and not draw the attention of the stray person patrolling. What were my brothers thinking? Putting mere commoners in charge of the duties of a soldier? Ha! Fools!

We near the gates, and I look back at my men, each one with a dangerous, concentrating expression.

I turn back to the gates, our target, and lift my battle-axes into the air with a war cry and bring them down screaming. The men follow my example and take up the cry themselves as we charge the gates to take my castle. This will be boy's play! We will win this!

Then a large, black mass shoots into the air and falls from the sky like dark rain. It falls on us, and men's cries of war turn to screams of pain as they fall in waves, one by one by one.


	4. Blood and Battle

Blood is everywhere on the field. Blood is glorious. Blood is battle. It shouldn't be like this, this horrible, horrible way, the stench so thick and dark, the color so anguished and tainted… **But it makes me feel so alive.**

**"We cannot lose!" **I scream, "Keep going forward!" The soldiers follow, and I feel more of them fall, but I don't pay them any heed. I reach the entrance, where the stone arch bearing our family's sigil of two crossed axes stands with thick wooden doors that will lead way to my victory.

"Bring down the gate!" I yell, "And keep your shields up!" The soldiers somehow manage to bring the log up to me without getting themselves killed. The cries of the wounded are far fewer, but they sound louder, and they drown out all else and give me a surge of power.

The massive log slams into the door with a deadening thud, splintering the first bit of the entrance.

"Again!" And again and again. Finally, the door completely splits open as sharp fragments flying through the air in a single burst. With a victorious cry, I charge forward into the castle and my men follow.

The first of the resisters come and try to stop us, desperately clutching weapons they clearly cannot use in their hands. They come towards us with open arms, and blood flies from their bodies as sharp metal meets soft flesh and weak bones. The time seems to slow down, but everything is blurred and sped up at the same time. I lunge at whatever moves, not bothering to see what becomes of it after the blade of my axe has met its mark.

Yes, _yes! _THIS is battle! The thrill of movement, the sounds of weapons, the feeling of strength in the arms, the cloud in the mind, the taste of power over another, the heat…

Why is it this hot? Even under the layer of blood and sweat that coats my skin, it still shouldn't be this hot, so dry and cackling…

Men scream with fear, and I can barely make out the words of "Fire!" and "Run!" that now fill the air.

"No, no!" I yell fervently, "We cannot leave! We haven't won yet!" But no one listens.

"Cowards!" Rubble and stone fall around me as frames of burning orange and yellow timber collapse, as flimsy as cloth dolls. No one is left save the still bodies, the battle is over, the castle is lost, and I am forced to join my men in retreat.

**This is what defeat is. Never taste this again.**

I won't.

••••

"What I want to know? You ask me what I want to know? Well, I'll tell you. Just exactly HOW THE FUCK did the castle catch on fire?!" I roar, glaring at my remaining men. The arrows caused me to lose a little less than half my men, something I was wholly unprepared for. The injured have arrows sticking out of their stomachs, thighs, legs, or arms, or are burned from the flames. Many of the healthy ones are still coated in a thin, hardened coat of blackened red and soot. A man with blood in his beard clears his throat.

"I think a torch was accidently knocked over during the fighting, my lord," blood beard says hesitantly. I glower down at him.

"Do you _think_ or do you _know_?" I demand. He turns red.

"I think I know," he says tentatively, "Anndrais was the one who actually saw it happen, see?"

"And where is this Anndrais now?" I growl.

"Dead," someone speaks up. I turn to see tattoos shoving through the crowd.

"Anndrais was my little brother," he says slowly, clear anger on his face, "And now he is dead because of your failure of a plan!"

"There are casualties in war," I snap, "Get used to it!"

"Maybe there would have been less if you had even bothered to listen!" he roars, his face now contorted with rage, "There was nothing worth fighting, much less dying for in that castle! I tried to tell you that your brothers had all the best archers on their side, but you were only concerned with yourself and what you wanted!" He begins to walk away.

"And _where _do you think you're going?" I growl.

"To your brothers," he replies tonelessly, "I came to you when this all began because I thought you were the rightful king, that your strength would make the kingdom great. But now I see why your father did not want that. With strength and nothing else, you are nothing but an evil, greedy monster. I don't know about the rest of us, but I don't want to live in a place with a devil for king."

"Do you honestly think they will welcome you?" I laugh, hiding my inner fear and rage.

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. Even if they're worse than you, it doesn't matter. They weren't the ones that led my brother to his death, and they might at least bother to learn my name and treat me like a human being."

**Before he can take another step, I grab a long sword from the nearest soldier and run the blade through his heart.** There's that beautiful tension in his body as he realizes what has happened, then limpness as the red liquid drips down his body and he collapses in a ragged heap as the life leaves his body.

**"Does anybody else wish to leave?"** I question, scanning the crowd. None of them dare to make eye contact. I nod, satisfied.

"Good. Now we plan for our next attack."


End file.
